We're in Washington DC and I just had a shower. Last night was a fairly fun show - several nice lads from MD drove up to see the show so it seemed like my songs had a little more welcomeness there. DC has amazing Ethiopian food, so I hit that, and hard, but the dudes in EC don't value their health at all so I hit it hard and alone. At the end of my set we did rousing versions of Pon Pon and Bad Rabbits from the FortNightShift EP and that got me kind of hoppity. I like bands and playing with bands and bandying about. I'm sick of rap. I'm gonna write a rap song today about how I'm growing pretty tired of rap on this tour. I think people were more down with GavCaz at this show than the ones preceding it, and may even have considered purchasing a record by said Caz had I not closed my set by saying (somewhat awkwardly), "I know alot of you want to put your penises in a vagina tonight, and you think you may need to spend the next $10 on a drink to do so, but I think you can purchase one of my records AND put your penis in a vagina tonight. The two aren't mutually exclusive." Crickets.
After the show we went out to a hipster bar in downtown DC... the male specimens here are very strange - the entire stuffy (but well decorated) place was squeezed to the brim with polo-shirt-wearing pretty boys with high collars and faux-worn denim (strangely enough, these funny men had ordered the jeans with worn crotches. Personally, I wouldn't want to walk around in public presenting my crotchal area as one heavily abused). The conversational snippets I overheard were a dense mishmash of plumber-like vulgarity and words like "dividends" and "figures." I put a guy's collar down for him and he looked at me like I was the one dressed like the bad guys from One Crazy Summer. Lucky for this town, it was so sweaty and packed, and these well-dressed sardines were so focused on maintaining their erections (and the whole scene was so cramped that they couldn't crane their necks even 40 degrees in either direction) that they barely noticed when I turned down each of their collars in turn. It was a lot of work, but within maybe 45 minutes I had the entire bar looking more respectable, and less like budget Count Draculas.
My next public service was to help the ladies put their breasts back in their bikini dresses, but after two or three of those operations, I was cast out of the bar by a burly man with a very thin mustache. Now that I think about it, and picture him (in my memory he is called "Ramone"), I think I was more threatened by the rapist 'stache than I was by his log-sized biceps. So I left without incident, turning down his collar on my way out.
We found our way back to the RV, where I drove us a treacherous 5 miles to a friends' apartment.
Cashed out in the heavy air conditioned Jambulance 2.0 and woke up with the sticky lips from a truly upsetting dream about yaghting.
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